


behind my eyelids

by wandpersand



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Literally just Philip jerking off, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, light pain kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandpersand/pseuds/wandpersand
Summary: Before he thinks any better of it, he presses his face into the shirt. It smells like dirt and gasoline and old spice and boy. Philip likes it more than he wants to admit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homesickghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homesickghosts/gifts).



> Ollie homesickghosts/ transboyphilipshea asked who would write solo philip and I relented (volunteered willingly). set around ep 5.  
> Title from hurricane by panic! at the disco

There are more compelling reasons to think the world has it out for them than just an interrupted make out session in Philip's room, but none so immediate. Philip is leaning up against his headboard, staring half-disbelievingly at the ajar door. Lukas is, presumably, riding over to his dad's barn; _urgent_ , the text had said. It's been a couple minutes since Philip heard Lukas’ bike roar off. Lukas had-- made progress. He had stopped thinking so hard, let his hands and lips just go without tensing up or pulling back. Now if only that would get them to a point where Philip isn't left alone and wanting at the mere thought of Lukas being found out. Progress. 

Philip  had been on Lukas’ lips, arms scrambling for purchase on his broad back, the layers of t-shirt and flannel a frankly useless barrier between Philip and all that skin and friction and  _ Lukas. _ Lukas had realized this and immediately ditched his flannel, thrown to a corner of the room like the denim jacket he had stripped off as soon as the opportunity to get on Philip, hot and dirty and close, arose. Philip had run his hands over the bare skin and straining muscle of his arms.

Philip cuts off his middle-distance staring to look around the room. There's a wad of red and black buffalo-checked fabric pooled by the wall, Lukas’ shirt. It's a bit of a struggle to pick it up, in that awkward way that doing anything incongruously unsexy when he's half hard is. Before he thinks any better of it, he presses his face into the shirt. It smells like dirt and gasoline and old spice and boy. Philip likes it more than he wants to admit.

Philip runs a finger over a spot at his neck, tender where Lukas had sucked on it. There's another mark, darker and toothier and more permanent, on his collarbone, where, come morning, he could probably hide it under a t shirt. He isn't sure he wants to. He brings his hand lower, over his chest, stomach, the soft hairs right below his navel. His other hand is still fisted in the flannel. He puts it to his cheek, one hand still teasing at the waistband of his jeans. The flannel is soft. He breathes it in again.  _ Lukas. _

Philip cups himself through his jeans, bites his lip. This isn't anything they've done yet, not intentionally. He wanted to, earlier, push into the slow rolling movements of Lukas’ body above him, feel hardness that pressed at his hip with his hands, his mouth. Lukas would fall apart, if how out of breath he was from just kissing was any indication.

Philip runs his thumb over his zipper, uncomfortable now where his cock is pressed against it. There's an involuntary, shuddery noise low in his throat. He pops the button, opens the zipper tooth by tooth. He wishes Lukas would. Philip pulls his jeans down and they catch on his ankles, but he doesn't make to pull them all the way off. He can still spread his legs like this, bent at the knee. His boxer briefs are heather grey and tented obscenely, with a darker wet spot where he's been dripping precome. He runs his thumb over it, hisses at the sensitivity. His fingers drag feather soft from the base of his dick all the way along the underside. The cotton dulls the touch and he can imagine it's Lukas’ hands, his calloused fingertips, and he thinks Lukas might want it to be. Lukas is always so responsive, so desperate. Does he stroke his cock and wish it was Philip? Does he splay his thighs, imagining a head of wavy brown hair between them? Philip lets his hand slide past the waistband of his underwear and curl loosely around his length. Would Lukas fist a hand in Philip's hair? Would Lukas want him to swallow or would he spill over Philip's lips? Philip tightens his grip, pulls slowly up and down the length of his cock. He thinks he'd like it if Lukas pulled his hair. He likes the sharp ache of the love bite on his collarbone, likes the electric heightened feeling when Lukas stops holding back. Philip's other hand is still in Lukas’ flannel. The hand on his cock speeds up, catching precome at the head with each stroke. His hips thrust into his hand in short jerky movements, the position of his legs making for bad leverage. His other hand trails over his chest. Philip hisses when he tweaks a nipple, feels his cock twitch. He does the other, harder. His back arches and his hips jolt up and he keens. He folds himself in half without taking the hand off his cock, the other pulling down his boxers, finagling them off his ankles along with his jeans. Philip spreads his legs wide, and strokes the soft skin of his inner thigh, thumb making tiny back-and-forth circles as his other hand pulls at his dick, thumbing the head and twisting on the upstroke. He’s close, he can feel it like a tidal wave. He's panting. He wants his mouth on Lukas’, wants to touch him. Wants Lukas in all the places he's touching himself. He moves the other hand lower. He jerks hard when his fingers ghost over his perineum, holds the base of his cock to keep from coming. Would Lukas touch him here? Would Lukas finger him? He starts up again with long, hard strokes. Lower, he drags one digit over his hole. He clenches, wanting  _ more _ . Philip can still smell Lukas on the shirt laying half on his chest. Would Lukas fuck him? Philip strokes himself one more time, hard. White sparks behind his eyelids. Come hits his belly, his chest, and he moans, high and needy.

His eyes blink open slowly, readjusting to the light in the room. There's a couple drops of white on the red of Lukas’ flannel. Philip thinks,  _ fuck it _ , and uses it to wipe up the rest of the mess on his stomach.

From his nightstand, his phone vibrates.

_ Lukas: sorry for running out like that _

_ Lukas: I can come back later and make it up to you _

_ Lukas: after dinner probably _

_ Philip: Helen and gabe will be home. Barn? _

_ Lukas: yeah _

_ Lukas: and I think I forgot my flannel _

Philip gets up, pulls on some sweats, and goes to do a load of laundry.

**Author's Note:**

> My eyewitness blog is over at waldenbeque!


End file.
